The Arena novel Chapter 65

If a war is coming, I need to be prepared to fight. I know Cedric won’t want me to, but that’s not how dragons are made. We’re not easily defeated, and we’re not fragile. Yes, we can die, but it takes a lot. Not being able to shift is definitely a disadvantage. One that I intend to remedy.

“Kenna, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sure, Momma. What do you need?”

“I need you to take me to our family’s cave. I need to get one of our swords.”

She looks at me for a moment. “Papa’s not going to like that.”

“Your Papa will be happy to know that I have a way to protect myself and your brother even though I can’t shift.”

“Maybe I should get one, too, Momma?”

“Yes, it’s about time you started learning other ways of defending yourself. Although, I’m not sure how that will work in your human form, but we can try.”

Kenna flies me to our cave of treasures. “When you’re ready, Kenna, you can begin bringing your treasures here, too,” I tell her.

She diverts her eyes.

“What?” I ask her.

She kicks the dirt with her child’s feet. “I wanted my own cave. This one is getting crowded. It’s not that I don’t love our family’s cave,” she rushes to say. “I do. But I just wanted something for myself.”

I pull the rock away from the entrance to our cave of treasures. “You found your own cave?”

She nods.

“And you’ve been finding your own treasures to put there?”

She nods again.

I crouch down in front of her. “And what treasures pull you to them, my sweet girl?”

She smiles. “Gems.”

I open my arms, and she rushes to me. “No one can ever say you’re not my daughter,” I say, hugging her tight.

I feel her shaking her head against my chest. “Maybe one day you’ll show me?” I ask.

“I’d like that, Momma.”

“Okay, for now, let’s get those swords and get back before your Papa has a heart attack that we’ve been gone so long.”

Part of my cave of treasures has swords forged long ago. Sword fighting was considered a warrior’s skill centuries ago before other weapons were created. During the time of dragon riders, swords were common. When my ancestors’ dragon riders died, the dragon would save their rider’s sword inside our cave, identifying it as one of our family’s most prized possessions. Then, the dragon would lay outside the cave, guarding it until they died from heartbreak at losing their rider.

I move to the very back of our cave where, on a wall, the five swords of my ancestors’ riders are hung. Originally, they were placed where there was room. By the time the fourth rider died, the dragon knew we needed a better way to save these swords. So, he found a way to hang them horizontally, in rows down the wall. The lowest one is around my hips, and the highest is over my head.

There is one that has always called to me, and that is the one that I have always practiced with. I reach for it, finding the old leather sheath still covering it. I slide the strap of the sheath over my neck, letting it hang across my body. The sword is so long it goes from my right shoulder, across my body to my left knee.

“Kenna, do any of these swords speak to you?”

She walks over, sliding her fingers over the one on my body. We are so much alike; it makes sense that the one I use would call to her. But then she turns. I pick her up so she can see and touch the ones still on the wall.

I watch as she reaches out her hand, feeling their energy, the energy of our ancestors.

“This one,” she says, gently touching one of the swords.